


See Me As I Am

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Series: The Older Brother Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Original Character, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Series, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Punishment, Spanking, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: "Sitting there with your friends after midnight, drinking and smoking and making out with a girl, you must've felt really grown-up, didn't you? Even if you were, you would still have to obey this family's rules, still need to show responsibility. But you're not a grown-up, you're a kid, and maybe leaving you alone this week made you forget that. So I'll remind you."





	See Me As I Am

**Author's Note:**

> The story contains disciplinary spanking of a teen and bad language - if this isn't your cup of tea, please don't read!
> 
> I strongly recommend you read [Beneath Your Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178313) before reading this story, as it will introduce you to this AU.
> 
> Blessings upon my most excellent betas: [alexofthegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden), [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) and [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti), please go read their fics!

Dad and Connor got home earlier than expected. They could have gotten home even earlier than that, if Dad had only taken Connor's opinion a little more seriously. Because Connor had been right from the start, and the creature _had_ turned out to be a wendigo. The old man should have given him a little more credit instead of thinking he always knew best, even if he did most of the time.

They were driving the Dodge Ram into town – they needed something that could handle the wood trails better than the Impala – and even though it was one o'clock in the morning and the town was less than busy, Dad kept off the main streets and took the long way around.

Connor was fine with it. It wasn't like they were in any hurry; they had only been gone five days, and Sam and Dean had enough money and supplies to get by for another week at least. Plus, it was a really nice town, the kind where people weren't scared to let their children out and about on their own. Of course Dad had gone over the entire place with a fine-toothed comb looking for any supernatural threats, but had found none.

It didn't mean Sam and Dean were allowed to go wherever and whenever they wanted, but after the first few days, Dad had started letting them attend some after-school activities and to meet up with other kids until their curfew. Connor thought that in Dean's case that meant mostly girls; the kid wasn't even seventeen yet, but Connor was sure he was getting far more action than Connor had at his age. Or even now.

They had managed to rent a house, a real one with traces of lawn in the front yard and a tire swing hanging from a tree in the back yard, and three bedrooms, which meant Connor had his own room. He hoped Dad would agree to stay for a while; his own bedroom was not something he was willing to give up so soon. And it _was_ a nice town. Connor might be able to get himself laid too.

They were driving by a small park – stretches of grass, some bushes, and clusters of trees here and there. Cars were parked along the curb, and Connor could see vague shapes moving in and out of the pools of light thrown by the lamps along the trails. It was Friday night, and he assumed some of those were teenagers looking for a good make-out spot.

And then he heard Dad's "Son of a _bitch_!" and grunted as the seatbelt dug into him when the car screeched to a sudden halt.

"What the fuck," Connor breathed out. He peeled the seatbelt off of him and rubbed his chest. Dad reversed the Dodge, stopped – carefully this time – and stared out the window. Connor leaned over to look at what Dad saw.

The Impala was parked at the curb. Which meant Dean was somewhere in the park, which meant he had left Sam alone and broke curfew, which meant Dad was going to kick his ass into the stratosphere. Connor stole a glance at Dad's face as he maneuvered the car into a nearby parking space; yep, the ass kicking was pretty much a done deal.

Almost as soon as the car was still, Dad yanked the key out of the ignition and leaped out, and Connor hurried to follow him into the park. Dad paused a little way inside, stood and scanned his surroundings. Connor was about to suggest splitting up to cover more ground, but Dad had already started walking briskly toward a few sturdy trees about three hundred yards away.

Connor thought that Dad had picked his mark at random, but as they drew closer, he could see there were people sitting on the grass by the trees, just at the edge of the cone of illumination from the nearby street light. A tiny glowing speck hovered among them – probably a cigarette – and easy, young giggles drifted through the night air.

Dad slowed his pace as they were about a hundred and fifty yards away, then moved into the deeper shadows away from the trail. His tread became cat-like, almost completely silent on the moist grass. Connor could see and hear the seated group better now; they were a bunch of teens, probably around Dean's age. If Dad had noticed it from the get-go or only later, Connor couldn't tell, but he had to hand it to the man for spotting them in the first place.

They both moved carefully closer, still not disclosing their presence to the teens. Connor had the idea that Dad wanted to listen first; even if Dean wasn't with this group, they might know him or have seen him around. But they had to gather information first, maybe find leverage. They crept a little bit forward.

One of the boys rose up on his knees to reach for the cigarette another was offering to him, took a drag and handed it back. Then he knocked back the beer bottle he was holding, letting the light momentarily shine on his face, and Connor was drenched in a wave of relief, then of anger as Dean settled back down on the grass and reached his free hand to cup the jaw of the girl next to him.

Connor glanced at Dad. It was too dark to make out his face, and maybe it was for the best; Connor had a feeling he wouldn't like what he saw. He looked back at Dean instead. The girl had slipped an arm around his little brother's neck while the other one rose to card through his hair. Dean hadn't let go of the beer bottle, but his other hand moved over the girl's back, pulling her closer while they got busy sucking each other's faces.

Dad had seen enough. He didn't try to keep quiet anymore as he strode the rest of the way and stood over Dean. Connor saw the other kids – three boys and two girls other than Dean and the girl he was exchanging bodily fluids with – raising their heads, and then raising them some more to look all the way up to Dad and Connor's six-two. One of the boys hid a bottle behind his back, and another girl's hand moved in the grass by her feet, and Connor was sure she was putting out the cigarette – no, it wasn't a cigarette; in the crisp night air, the smell of pot was very much prominent.

For a few seconds more, all the kids just stared at them; that is, all the kids except Dean and his lady friend who eagerly went about their business. Connor thought about kicking the little Casanova – his foot was situated hardly three feet away from Dean's thigh – but Dad spoke first.

"Dean," Dad's voice was deep, cold, ominous. Dean disengaged from his date so fast, their lips produced a loud smooching sound as they parted. The kid stared up, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

"Fuck," he breathed out.

"Yeah," Dad said. Dean leaped to his feet, almost knocking the girl flat on her back as he pushed away from her.

"Dad, it's not… it's not what it looks like," yet Connor could hear in Dean's voice that his brother didn't think for one second that Dad hadn't seen _exactly_ what it was like. Dad didn't even bother addressing that.

"Get your ass in the car," he said. "Connor, you're driving the Impala back. And you," he turned to the other teens. "I'm fairly certain your parents never gave you permission to sit out here at this time of night, smoking and drinking, did they?"

All of them were on their feet in about five seconds with mumbled 'no, sir's, and almost immediately started retreating, leaving the beer bottles twinkling in the grass.

Connor caught up with Dean who had started moving toward the parked cars. They reached the Impala, and Dean unlocked it, then slipped into the passenger seat. Connor debated for a second if he should wait for Dad to decide if he wanted Dean to ride with him, and then shrugged and climbed into the driver's seat. He could give Dean those last ten minutes of grace before he faced the full nuclear blast of John Winchester's wrath.

Connor didn't talk on the way, and neither did Dean. The kid sat nearly motionless, staring out the window. But Connor didn't need to hear him talk, or see him move, or even look at his face to know he was scared shitless. He would be a fool not to be, and Dean might have been a disobedient, reckless, horny little punk, but he was far from being a fool.

They were home in no time, and Connor parked, turned off the engine and was about to open his door when Dean spoke.

"Don't let him whip me."

Connor turned to him. "What?"

"Don't let him whip me when he's this mad. Please," Dean turned his face, faint glow from the street lights shining in his eyes. His voice was small, quivering. "I fucked up and I have this coming, but not when he's this mad. Please, Connie, don't let him do it when he's this mad. Please. Please."

The Dodge's lights were coming up behind them, only a few seconds before Dad would park. Connor made his decision.

"Go into my room and stay there," he said. Dean darted out of the car and into the house, leaving the front door ajar.

Connor climbed out of the Impala and went into the house, already hearing Dad's footfall behind him on the short driveway. He turned around to face Dad as the old man came in.

"Where is he?" Dad asked.

"Sent him to my room," Connor moved to block Dad's way when he started for the hallway. Dad's brow creased.

"Well?" He said impatiently.

Connor breathed in. "I think you should take a walk."

Dad's brow creased further. "What?"

"You're steaming. You need to cool off a bit before you handle him. Take a walk and come back."

Dad's face darkened dangerously. "Get out of my fuckin' way, Connor. That boy is getting an ass whipping, and he's getting it right now."

"No," Connor moved again, almost bumping his chest against Dad's. "Cool off, Dad. Calm down. Deal with him then."

Dad's hand lashed out – maybe to hit Connor, maybe just to push him aside. Connor didn't wait to see. He grabbed Dad's arm and took a step forward, using his body weight to shove the old man back.

"Take. A _walk_."

Dad's hazel eyes were locked with his, so intense they looked like they were smoldering. For a second Connor feared he had pushed too far, but then Dad pulled his arm out of Connor's hold, retreated a step and turned. A moment later the door slammed shut behind his back.

Connor let out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he went to his bedroom.

Dean looked up as Connor opened the door and walked in. Connor could see his brother's eyes searching the doorway, and then the relief in them as Dad didn't follow.

"You're in deep shit," Connor said.

"I know," Dean looked away, then back. "Thank you."

Connor nodded. "He might be five minutes, or ten, or fifteen. Why don't you change in the meantime and then wait in here."

He went ahead of Dean to the kids' bedroom to take a look at Sam – that kid could sleep through a Midwest thunderstorm – then went to the kitchen. He found the bottle of Jack in the upper cupboard and examined the level of amber liquid in the bottle, but it seemed Dean hadn't been into it, or at least not enough to show clearly. He poured himself a finger, drank it, looked at the glass, and poured himself another. Then he poured two more fingers and took the glass to the foyer to wait for Dad.

Dad's walk wasn't a token one; it was nearly twenty minutes before he was back. Connor held the whiskey glass out to him as he came in, and watched him down it with hardly a muscle twitching in his face. Dad wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and put the glass down on the end table near the door. His face was still hard-set, but the dark rage was gone.

"He's still in your room?"

"Yes, sir."

Dad just nodded, and this time Connor moved out of his way as he started walking toward the hallway.

Dean was seated on the bed, and he raised his head when they came in. He had changed into the sweatpants and Henley he used as pajamas, and as he got to his feet, Connor saw something else on the bed. Dean had gone into his room for more than a change of clothes; the strap was resting on top of the covers.

Dad came to stand in front of Dean. Dean was trying to stand calmly, but Connor could see he had to put an effort into keeping his eyes on Dad.

"Explain yourself," Dad said.

"I… Leanne and Drew invited me to hang out with them, and I… I just lost track of time."

"You left Sam alone."

"I wasn't going to be gone long, and the house's safe. The town's safe. I didn't think… I'm sorry."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Three beers. No, two and a half. I didn't finish the third one."

"And how much did you smoke?"

"Just a couple of drags. I was just gonna try it out, it didn't even do anything to me, so I wasn't gonna smoke anymore. I swear, Dad, that's all I took."

"And yet you were so out of it, you didn't even notice we were standing right there," Dad said. Dean's eyes grew a little larger at that. "We were standing not three feet away, Dean, and you didn't notice a damned thing. Your friends did, your _civilian_ friends, but you didn't. There's a reason I tell you not to use drugs. It could have been a vampire or a werewolf instead of us, and you would've been too distracted to fucking notice."

Dean's mouth opened, then closed.

"I thought I could leave you in charge. I thought you could handle it, that you're responsible enough-"

"I am, I'm responsible," Dean's tone was imploring.

"Are you?" There was something in Dad's voice, a note that was almost sad, and Dean stepped forward.

"I'm responsible, Dad, I've been doing everything right all week. I kept the place clean and I made Sam his meals and I took care of him and I behaved at school. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I fucked up tonight, but it was just tonight, It's not… you can still trust me, please, Dad."

Dad looked at him at length, then walked around him. He picked up the strap and moved to the foot of the bed; it was an old-fashioned rustic with a footboard made of solid wood that jutted out over the mattress and almost broke Connor's toe when his long legs accidently kicked against it in his sleep.

Dad took the folded extra blanket that Connor had on the bed, draped it over the footboard and looked at Dean. Dean didn't need further directions; he came to Dad's side, pushed his pants and boxers down and bent over the padded footboard, resting his forearms on the bed and his head on them.

Dad took a minute to watch Dean settle into position, then reached the strap to touch Dean's rump and let him know he was about to start.

The first swat rang so loud, Connor's immediate thought was whether Sam could hear it and would wake up, and should Connor have suggested they move this into the living room, but it didn't matter now.

The walk must have done Dad good, because he took his time; he landed the strap, then waited a couple of seconds for the sting to sink in, then swung it again. Dean's hands fisted into the bedspread, his face pressed to his arms. He was wincing with every whack, lightly at first, and then more notably as the fire built.

Connor moved carefully so he could see what sort of damage Dad was inflicting on Dean's ass; it wasn't as if he was actually concerned Dad would _hurt_ Dean, but he had made it his business to be there every time Dad had punished either of his little brothers. It wasn't a real issue with Sam, he wasn't spanked often, and when he was, it was over almost as soon as it started.

Dean was a whole other matter. Sadly, the middle Winchester child's high tolerance for pain meant that for a whipping to make an impression, it often needed to leave an _actual_ impression on his backside. Connor had learned long ago how to predict the severity of the bruises from the tint of Dean's freshly-whipped ass – an expertise he wished he never had to master.

Connor watched as the wide red stripes the strap painted over Dean's skin overlapped, merged, and then started to darken as Dad applied the leather for the third and fourth time over the same spots. Dean could usually keep quiet for fairly long, but tonight, either because of the alcohol or the marijuana or for some other reason, his cries of pain were already audible less than a dozen licks into the whipping, even though Dean stuffed his face into the bedspread to stifle his voice.

Dad kept going as if he didn't hear it. The strap was rising and falling, rising and falling. Dean was twitching over the footboard, back heaving and then sinking down again. But he was keeping position, keeping his feet on the floor, and the strap was rising and falling, rising and falling.

At last Dad let the hand holding the strap drop to his side and stepped back. He looked at Dean for a moment and then said, "Get up, Dean."

Dean shifted on the bed, first turning his head a little to peek at Dad, then moving his arms to push himself up. He had to grab onto the footboard before he could straighten up all the way, then bent and took a hold of the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Leave those, we're not done," Dad said. He had gone over to the side of the bed and sat down. "Come here."

Bafflement and worry battled over Dean's tear-streaked face as he waddled to Dad's side. Dad looked at him somberly.

"Sitting there with your friends after midnight, drinking and smoking and making out with a girl, you must've felt really grown-up, didn't you?" Dad's voice was even, not reprimanding nor furious. "Even if you were, you would still have to obey this family's rules, still need to show responsibility. But you're not a grown-up, you're a kid, and maybe leaving you alone this week made you forget that. So I'll remind you. Over."

Dean looked almost disbelievingly at Dad's hand tapping his thigh. Dad waited a few more seconds and tapped again, his brows furrowing. Dean blinked at the second tap, crouched a little and carefully positioned himself over Dad's lap. Dad held his waist and moved him until his ass was way up in the air and his feet were completely off the floor. Connor caught a glimpse of Dean's flushed face before he hid it in the arms he rested on the bed.

Connor turned Dean over his knee occasionally, but it had been a long while since Dad had. He swatted Dean more often than not – you could hardly keep the kid in line without doing so – but he hadn't actually spanked him over his lap like this, like a _child_ , and Connor had the feeling Dean would have rather taken a double whipping over the footboard than to be put in this position.

Sure enough, as Dad started peppering Dean's reddened backside with sharp, brisk smacks, Dean started to cry.

It wasn't the pain, Connor was certain of it. Oh, it must have hurt; Dad wasn't spanking at full force, but he didn't have to, not after such a thorough job with the strap. And knowing Dean, Connor was sure his brother welcomed the physical pain because it was easier, so much easier than having to face Dad's disappointment in him. He had to face it now.

Dean's legs were kicking some, though he probably didn't notice, nor did he notice his pants and boxers were sliding down and off. And maybe he didn't even notice the words he was uttering in between sobs, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry", over and over again. Connor glanced at Dad's face, but he couldn't tell if Dad was hearing it; his features were stone-hard, his lips tightly pressed, his hand crashing down again and again.

Dad stopped. He held Dean over his lap, one hand resting on his waist, and after a moment, very slowly, started rubbing Dean's back. Dean was still weeping, and Dad went on rubbing his back for a little while longer, and then slid his arm underneath Dean's torso to lift him up. Dad turned him and moved him until he had him settled in his lap with his weight resting on his thighs instead of his welted ass. Dean wrapped his arms around Dad's neck and buried his face in Dad's shoulder, and Dad held him close, one hand again rubbing his back.

"It's okay, it's okay, you're forgiven, you're okay, it's all over now, son, all over, you're okay, kiddo," Dad had his head against Dean's, his murmured words almost too quiet for Connor to make out. Dad started rocking slightly, still murmuring in Dean's ear, until Dean's crying had reduced to sniffling, hitched breaths.

At last Dean shifted a little on Dad's lap, and Dad raised a hand to stroke his head. "C'mon, we'll get you dressed."

Dean let Dad stand him back up, but he was still sniffling, and his hands were still grabbing at Dad's shirt as Dad helped him step back into his boxers and pants and pulled them into place.

Dad smiled at him. "Let's put you to bed, eh?"

He started to disentangle Dean from him, but Dean wouldn't let go. "No, stay," his voice sounded hoarse from crying.

Dad passed his hands over Dean's cheeks, his hair, the back of his neck. "I'm here, I'm staying, okay? I'm staying." He leaned in and kissed Dean's forehead, then glanced at Connor. "You don't mind taking my bed tonight, do you?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem."

Dad moved toward the bed, sat down and then sprawled onto it, all the while maneuvering Dean along until he had the kid tucked into his side, with his blond head resting on Dad's chest and Dad's arm secured around him.

Connor got the blanket Dad had used to pad the footboard and draped it over them. Dad smiled briefly at him, but Dean just lay with his eyes closed, completely submerged in Dad's embrace.

Connor retreated to the door and flipped the light switch to turn the overhead lamp off. He started closing the door, then halted to take another look at his father and brother on the bed.

They were quiet and still; Dad's hand was cupping the back of Dean's head and the only thing moving was Dad's thumb as he rubbed it over Dean's scalp. Connor thought he might have been humming, but he couldn't be sure. He closed the door softly behind him and padded down the hall to Dad's bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

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